DOWSING: FACT OR FANCY?

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WHERE'S THAT PROOF?

Still, during all the discussion of Y-rods and water veins and which methods work best when, I never heard a really clear, sensible, scientific explanation of what dowsing is or why it works. And to tell the truth, the more I saw people pick up rods and immediately start operating with them, the more I felt as if I were the only one who seemed to need such definitions.

Gradually, it dawned on me that the reason I never got a practical rationale of dowsing was that there isn't any. According to the ASD, the only way to understand dowsing is to experience it . . . and to do that, you simply have to take it on faith that the skill arises from using one's subconscious (or, as the dowsers call it, the Universal Mind) to discover something that the conscious mind can't comprehend. This theory holds that the tools used are merely a tangible, visible means by which to communicate with the subconscious. Experiments run on dowsers in the hope of coming up with a more down-to-earth analysis of the process haven't been able to pin it down yet. [EDITOR'S NOTE: For further reading on this and other dowsing-related topics, take a look at The Divining Hand by Christopher Byrd. This fascinating book depicts the past, present, and apparent future of the art, and can be purchased for $13.50 plus $2. 70 for shipping and handling from The American Society of Dowsers, Inc., Dept. TMEN, Danville, Vermont 05828-0024.] Needless to say, without a satisfactory definition or proof of what dowsing is or isn't—other than what I heard and thought I saw—I either had to remain a doubter or give the practice a good, honest hands—on try. I chose the latter.

My first efforts were pretty self-conscious and uneventful. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get the reaction I was supposed to from my ornery Y-rod! I had better luck with the L-rods. Besides being more comfortable in my hands, they had an intriguing feeling of weightlessness. Actually, they seemed to wiggle around of their own accord. So I mustered up all the "I believe in fairies" enthusiasm I had, and made up my mind to win over these flighty tools.

The instructor said to settle the rods down and get them into the ready (or search) position . . . which in L-rods means facing front and parallel to the ground. I silently told my tools to behave and straighten up, but they didn't listen and continued to let themselves be pulled this way and that . . . by gravity or whatever. I became more emphatic, and spoke out loud to them. This time they listened. Gradually they slowed down, pointed dead ahead, and were still. For a minute I was afraid to breathe, lest I disturb them and set them off again . . . and also because I had no idea how I'd gotten them quiet in the first place. To my knowledge, I hadn't moved a muscle to control them. Really!

With sprouting confidence, I took a deep breath and asked my L-rods to move into the open, uncrossed (or yes) position. They did so without the slightest hesitation. Then I commanded them to cross in front of me to indicate no, which they also did promptly. Figuring I was on a roll, I decided to use my new "friends" to try dowsing for one of the water veins that were marked on the Danville green with pieces of pink string. So I got the rods back into the search position, and—closing my eyes and concentrating very hard—I asked them to point in the direction of the nearest vein. When I opened my eyes, both L-rods were aimed directly toward the telltale pink cord closest to me!

Next, trying hard to keep my attention on the tips of the rods (and not on the string!), I walked slowly in the direction they'd told me to go, asking them to signal yes when I hit water. The first time I crossed the string, nothing happened. I retraced my steps and went back over . . . still nothing.

My enthusiasm was dwindling rapidly, and my doubts were coming back to the fore, when my instructor (a kindly middle-aged woman with a soft but stern voice) called out, "Don't give up! Stop and relax for a minute. Then try again, very slowly." She came over, put her hand on my shoulder, and gently advised me to concentrate on what I was looking for . . . but not to force a reaction.

The next time I reached the string, my rods flew wide open.

"Try again!" she exclaimed. "And this time, don't look down. Look up, and think only of water."

I did as I was told . . . and when I felt the rods open up again, I looked down. Once more, there beneath my feet was the lovely pink string! I repeated the exercise several times and I continued to get the same reaction from my instruments. I was so astounded that I probably would have kept at it all day, except that—as my stomach kept pointing out—the lunch hour was past and I was starving.

Now maybe all that I experienced was the result of autosuggestion . . . who's to say? And who knows (but the dowsers who laid them out) whether or not there was water under the pink strings? Nevertheless, whether I programmed or dowsed my responses, I know that my first brief success with L-rods was enough to pique my curiosity about this new "sport" . . . not only because I might really find water with it, but because it was a lot of fun!

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